A Working Relationship
by mojober
Summary: Sherlock Holmes meets Molly Hooper. Pre-A Study in Pink
1. Chapter 1

Molly was just about to weigh the diseased heart of Scott Phillip Brown when she saw him watching her from the observation window above.

He was tall with dark, curly hair and a pale complexion.

Molly knew most everyone on the evening shift and especially those who visited the mortuary. There weren't that many. Nobody ever came down here unless they had to.

She gave him a look and he motioned toward the door, wanting to talk to her. Molly set the heart carefully back inside the chest and disposed of her latex gloves. She straightened out her jumper and lab coat before stepping out into the hall to meet him.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her eyes sweeping over his long coat looking for a badge of any sort. He didn't have one. She felt a wave of panic as she wondered who he was and what he wanted with her.

"You're Molly Hooper," he said, his eyes quickly scanning her badge for confirmation.

"Yes and you are?"

"No time to explain," he said, moving towards her and talking very fast. "You examined the body of Donna Stephens two days ago. There was something in your notes about a burn on her left wrist."

"How do you know that?"

"I need to see it," he said, stopping right in front of her. He stared down at Molly, taking full advantage of his height. His body sparked with an energy that she could practically feel. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end.

"And I need to see some identification," she said, taking a step back. He took a step forward to close the gap between them again.

"There's no time," he said again, his eyes locking onto hers. His voice was pitched dangerously low. "He's going to kill again tonight if I don't stop him."

"It was murder then," Molly said, staring up at him. She'd suspected it was even though the police had determined the asphyxiation was self-inflicted.

"I need to see the burn," he pressed, edging closer still. "Please."

Molly knew she shouldn't but there was just something so intense and compelling about him she wanted to help. He was also quite attractive and standing extremely close to her. Surely he worked for or with the police if he had access to her report. Why else come here at this ungodly hour if it wasn't about the case?

"Okay," she said, the word barely a whisper.

Before she knew it, he clutched her arm and spun her around back into the mortuary. He paced as she snapped on another pair of gloves, then opened the cabinet containing the dead girl's body.

Molly slid the drawer out just enough to unzip the bag and lift out the left arm. He was right beside her again, peering over her anxiously as she turned over the wrist.

"I'm certain it was made after death. That's why I put it in my notes," Molly said, tracing a gloved finger over the mark. He stuck a hand in his pocket and drew something out.

"It was made with this," he said, holding a small metal block. On it was a crescent moon, raised up on one end. He set it carefully over the burn.

It matched perfectly.

His entire face lit up, then he turned to Molly.

"You're brilliant," he declared, his hands suddenly on her upper arms. Without warning, he leaned down and kissed her soundly on the cheek. Just as quickly, he let her go and darted toward the door.

"Wait, who are you?" she called after him, her face burning where his lips just were.

"Sherlock Holmes!" he called out before pushing the door open with both hands.

And just like that, he was gone.

* * *

Four days later, Sergeant Sally Donovan was looking over the body of William John Searcy. He'd been shot three times in a domestic dispute but the police wasn't sure if it was the wife or the girlfriend. Molly waited patiently until she finished her examination before asking.

"Have you worked with ... Sherlock Holmes?" she asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Sergeant Donovan looked up immediately, her face twisting up in what appeared to be disgust.

"That freak?" she said, scoffing loudly. "When I'm forced to, yes. Why do you ask?"

"I was reading his website," Molly said, trying to stay calm despite the fact Sergeant Donovan was now glaring suspiciously at her. "It says he's a 'consulting detective' and I wasn't sure what that means exactly ..."

"What it means is he likes to make everyone in my department look like complete idiots," she answered, her voice taking on a bitter tone. "Like with that Donna Stephens case ... oh God."

"What?" Molly asked innocently.

"He was here, wasn't he?" she said accusingly. "All makes sense now. That bastard. I supposed he told you some elaborate lie to get in to see her body after I specifically told him no."

"But the killer was caught that night," Molly pointed out. She'd seen it on the news the next day and read about it on his blog. "Isn't that what matters? Isn't that why we do what we do?"

"It's not why he does it," she warned, shaking her head. "He gets off on it ... murder. I've never seen anyone enjoy it as much as he does. Don't get involved with him. If he shows up here again, you call me."

Molly nodded just so she'd leave her alone. She busied herself with some paperwork just to avoid Sergeant Donovan's hateful looks that weren't really meant for her. They were meant for Sherlock Holmes, who Molly now found more fascinating than ever.

She couldn't stop thinking about him even if she tried.

* * *

Molly opened her locker, then removed her wet hat and scarf. It was absolutely miserable out. She sighed heavily as she unbuttoned her equally drenched coat, shrugged out of it and hung everything inside.

Another evening shift.

Another Friday night.

Alone.

Almost three weeks had passed and she'd given up hope on ever seeing him again. She'd thought about emailing or posting something on his blog, but couldn't quite get up the nerve to. From what she gathered he was obviously a genius, rather arrogant and as Sergeant Donovan had pointed out, obsessed with murder. The last one she could understand. She found it rather fascinating herself sometimes.

Molly pulled out her lab coat and shut her locker. She walked over to the mirror as she slipped it on, then pulled her hair out from underneath it. It was damp and frizzy and looked horrid. She reached in her pocket for a rubber band and started gathering her hair up in her hands.

"You should leave it down," said a voice from behind her. Molly's heart all but stopped as saw him appear in the mirror, leaning casually against her locker. "Long hair suits you. Frames your face."

Molly felt her face flush as she pulled her hair back anyway. "I can't work with it in the way."

She tried not to watch him watching her through the mirror but she couldn't help it. How did he get in? Why was he here? And what did it matter? He'd come back. Molly wished she would've at least put on some lipstick earlier. She looked like a drowned cat while he looked amazing ... and dry.

"Why aren't you wet?" she asked curiously.

"I've been waiting for you," he stated, making it sound like they had an appointment she'd missed. "Unfortunately, you work the evening shift every Friday."

"So you know my schedule," Molly said, reeling from the fact he'd been researching her as well. She twisted her hair into a loose bun and turned around. "Why? Is there another body you need to see?"

"No," he said, straightening up. It was then Molly realized he'd been hiding something behind his back. Sherlock dramatically held up a small, dark bag. "I brought my own this time. Well, part of one."

Molly's eyes widened as she stared at the bag, wondering what "part" was in it. She looked up at Sherlock, who was now smiling like it was Christmas.

"Did you steal it from a crime scene?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, borrowed," he said, rolling his eyes a bit at the semantics. "I need to use the lab and your expertise."

He wasn't even asking. He was telling her. For a moment, Molly considered saying no. It was against the rules. She could lose her job. Her license could be suspended or even revoked if this sort of unauthorized intrusion continued.

He smiled again, as if he was daring her to do it.

Molly couldn't resist.

"Okay," she said, smiling back. "Let's see what you've got."

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

"I think I've met somebody," Molly said, more to herself than to her friend.

"Oh my God!" Jane exclaimed, loud enough that it caused others in Bart's cafeteria to turn their heads. Molly frantically motioned for her to lower her voice, which she did. "Who is it?"

"He's a detective of sorts," she said, shaking her head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you're 31 and in desperate need of a shag," Jane said, unable to contain her excitement.

"Not that desperate," she said, although the thought of sex with Sherlock Holmes constantly crossed her mind. Molly took a deep breath and tried to regain control of her senses. "He works cases with the police and I've been helping him. He's very interested in ... pathology."

"But is he very interested in you?" Jane asked, spearing a tomato from her salad with her fork. She pointed it at Molly before popping it into her mouth.

Molly took a bite of her pasta to avoid answering that question. He'd spent her entire shift examining and studying the disembodied and acid-burned hand he'd brought in the bag. She'd offered to do a full work up on it for him but he wanted to do it himself. Molly had been rather disappointed he preferred to work alone, only asking her to confirm some of the results when he was finished.

"He's interested in what I know," Molly answered, remembering the intense way he'd listened to her. It was as if his brain was recording and storing each and every word for future reference. When there was no more information to obtain, Sherlock packaged up the hand and left without so much as a thank you.

That was almost a week ago.

"You're smart, Molls," Jane said, smiling at her. "Some men find that sexy."

"I guess," she replied, knowing she wasn't anywhere near the level he was. He'd called her "brilliant" the first night they met but he didn't really mean it. How could he? She was beginning to wonder about the flirting as well.

"Molls?" her friend asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Jane gave her a knowing look. "You were just thinking about him, weren't you?"

"No," she lied, looking around the cafeteria. It was decorated for Christmas, which was only days away. "I've just got a lot work to do. I'd better go. Three bodies tonight."

"They're not going anywhere," Jane said, taking another bite of salad. "Come on, stay. You haven't even told me his name."

"And I'm not going to," Molly replied, standing up. She picked up her plate and Jane smiled again.

"You're hoping he comes in, aren't you?" she said.

Molly left without answering, which was an answer in and of itself.

* * *

"Molly, what are you doing here?" asked Adam, the evening clerk in the break room. "I thought you were on holiday this weekend?"

"Cooper didn't show up for his shift," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was all set for her Boxing Day evening out with the girls when the call came. She didn't even have time to go home and change out of her skirt and heels. "And Cooper always shows up."

"That is unusual," he agreed, pouring himself one as well. He held the door open and waited as she gathered up her clipboard and coffee. "See you later."

"Okay," she said, then headed down the hall. Her heels clicked loudly, echoing as she reviewed the list for tonight. She was so absorbed that she almost didn't see the figure suddenly step out in front of her.

Molly stopped just short of Sherlock, her coffee sloshing everywhere. They both took a step back to avoid the deluge.

"Sorry," he said, taking the cup from her as she regained her composure. Molly shook her hand out and somehow avoided getting coffee on her clothes. He set the cup down on a nearby cart.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "It's the holiday."

"Working a case," he explained, stepping aside for her.

"Oh," she said, her heart sinking at knowing his visits to Bart's weren't limited to her shifts. Still, she was glad to see him. They walked in silence for a bit, his steps paced perfectly with hers.

"You're wearing a skirt," he said, his eyes flickering down her body. "You should wear them more often. You have nice legs."

Molly bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile. He was flirting with her again. She didn't really care if he meant it or not. It was nice to hear.

"You're lucky," she said, entering the mortuary. Sherlock followed her in, letting her go on ahead. "I'm covering for Dr. Cooper tonight."

"Yes, I know," he said and Molly stopped in her tracks. He was behind her now, his lips close to her ear. "Sorry about your girls night out but I needed you here, not Cooper."

"Seriously?" Molly said, realizing what he'd done. She turned around and stared at him.

"Seriously. I need you to perform an autopsy on Andrius Valdas," he said, staring right back at her. Molly flipped through her clipboard.

"He's not on the list," she said, searching some more. I have an Andrius Valdas, but the cause of death is a gunshot wound."

"He was shot because he's got 700 grams of cocaine in his stomach," Sherlock said. "He's part of a Lithuanian smuggling ring."

"I can't do that," Molly said, her brow furrowing. He was taking things entirely too far this time. "I can't perform an autopsy without authorization."

"Authorization I will get you after you extract the cocaine," he said, as if it were that simple. It wasn't.

"I can't," she said again, closing her eyes to avoid his. "I'm sorry but I just ..."

She felt his hands on her upper arms.

"Trust me," he said, his voice low and steady. "My brother will take care it. This is his case, not mine. I'm just consulting. You need to trust me, Molly."

"Why should I?" she asked, opening her eyes again. "I don't even know you. Not really."

"You know me enough to know I'm right," he said, his eyes searching hers. It was true. She knew it in her heart and could feel it in her gut.

"Okay," she finally said and he let her go. Molly motioned toward the observation window. "But you're going to have wait out there. I'm not going to have you in here ... distracting me."

"Done," he said, immediately heading for the door. His head was held high, stride arrogant as he exited the room.

Molly stared at the door for a moment.

She'd worked hard to get this job. She followed the rules. She was used to being in control. What was it about him that made her forget all of that? He had the ability to turn her into an absolute mouse within seconds. Who did he think he was?

But Molly already knew the answer.

He was Sherlock Holmes.

And she was falling in love with him.

* * *

It was nearly four o'clock when Molly finally left Bart's.

There were exactly 102 latex packages of cocaine in Andrius Valdas's stomach. Within minutes of extracting them, Inspector Lestrade and half a dozen agents were on hand to seize them. Molly was certain she would be suspended on the spot but wasn't. In fact, no one seemed to pay any attention to the fact there was no authorization for the autopsy and in all the confusion, Sherlock had disappeared. Again.

She decided she had earned herself a taxi home. She stood outside, wrapped tightly in her coat as she waited for the next one to drive by. A dark luxury car pulled up to the curb and a beautiful woman got out, dressed in an equally luxurious coat.

"Molly Hooper," she said, coming up to her. "I need you to step in the car for a moment. There's someone who'd like to thank you."

"I'd rather not," Molly said, taking a step back instead. The very last thing she was going to do was get into a strange car at this hour. The night had been strange enough already.

The woman looked back at the car and the window came down just a bit. The man who was sitting in the back leaned his head out slightly.

"I'm afraid you know my brother," he said, then opened the door. "I can assure you it will only take a few minutes."

Against her better judgement, Molly stepped inside. The woman shut the door behind her and she found herself sitting beside a man who was impeccably dressed and groomed.

"Thank you for your assistance tonight," he said, smiling politely at her. The smile faded as he stared at her. "I must say, you are not what I expected. Did you owe him a favor?"

"No," Molly said, unsure of where this conversation was going. "He's a ... friend."

"That's impossible," the man said, shaking his head. "Sherlock doesn't have friends. He does, however, need somewhere to work and on occasion, someone to work with. I worry about him, you see. He can be quite self-destructive if left to his own devices. Best to keep him busy. Can you manage that?"

"I'm not sure I understand," Molly said, wanting desperately to get out of the car. There was something unsettling about his demeanor. He didn't really resemble Sherlock much either.

"Whatever this 'working relationship' is you have with my brother, it needs to continue," he said, his smile returning. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hooper."

He held out his hand. Molly looked at it, but did not take it. Instead, she got out of the car. She exchanged a look with the woman, who stepped back inside. Molly watched as the car drove off, disappearing down the street and into the dark.

What had she gotten herself into?


	3. Chapter 3

_Bored._  
_What have you got tonight?_  
_SH_

Molly looked at her mobile and smiled before texting back.

_Car crash. Interested?_  
_MH_

Within two seconds, she had her response.

_Very._  
_SH_

Molly smiled again, knowing he'd be showing up soon. Sherlock's visits had become more frequent due to a decline in cases. In fact, he hadn't had a case "worthy of the time" in almost three weeks and Molly was doing her best to "keep him busy" with clinical pathology. It wasn't forensics, but it was all she could offer.

Fourteen minutes later, he arrived. Molly handed him a pair of latex gloves.

"They brought her in this afternoon," Molly said, unzipping the bag slowly. "Katherine Mary Higgins. Twenty-nine years old. Car ran off the road and hit a fence. Cause of death is ..."

"Blunt force trauma," he finished for her. His eyes widened as they flickered over her broken and bruised body. He was particularily interested in post-mortem injury. This was the best example she'd had by far.

"I thought you might find it interesting," Molly said, stepping back as he started his own examination. She tried to think of something clever to say but it was clear from his silence that he didn't want to talk. He wanted to work. Alone.

"Okay," she said after a few minutes of being ignored.

Molly proceeded to open another cabinet and finish her work up on Peter Scott Matthews's liver. He had been a cancer patient and his family authorized a clinical for research purposes.

It was nearly an hour later when Sherlock spoke again, his voice closer than expected.

"I need a scalpel."

"What for?" she asked, turning around. He was standing behind her now, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Her injuries were accidental at time of death. What if they were made deliberately hours later? I've had cases like that. It's essential I know the difference," he said, his voice lowering with every word. Molly's stomach dropped as she realized what he wanted to do.

"Then you'll have to use a human analogue," Molly said as calmly as she could. "I could arrange for ..."

"It's not the same," he said matter of factly. He kept staring at her. "This is a teaching facility, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I can't just let you ... experiment," Molly said firmly. Sherlock's intense expression turned thoughtful as his gaze traveled slowly over her face.

"You have lovely symmetry," he said, his lips curling back in a smile. "Classic features, really."

Molly was at a loss for words. Did he just say she was lovely? No one had ever said that to her before. She reminded herself he was just flirting to get what he wanted and what he wanted was something she couldn't give him.

Or could she?

Before she could respond, his mobile rang. He reached into his pocket and snapped it up to his ear. He took a few steps back, putting some much needed distance between them.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Molly watched as his expression changed yet again as he listened for a couple minutes.

"On my way," he said, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He immediately headed toward the door as if Molly wasn't even there.

"Where are you going?" she asked before he reached it. With one hand on the door, he paused just long enough to look back at her.

"There's been a murder," he happily announced. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Molly could only manage a nod before he disappeared. She turned to the body and zipped up the bag.

"Guess you weren't that interesting," she said apologetically as she closed it over her face. Molly sighed heavily. "And neither am I."

* * *

"I must say, Molly, what you are proposing is very unusual," Dr. Mike Stamford said from behind his desk. She sat opposite him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. He gestured to his laptop. "Although, his website is fascinating. I was up all night reading it."

"He just needs somewhere to work," she said, giving him a pleading look. "Sometimes his cases require testing that he prefers to do himself. That Lithuanian drug smuggling case a few weeks ago? That was his."

"I remember that," Stafford said, nodding his head. "But if he needed access to a lab, he would already have it."

"It's not how he works," Molly said, offering the only explantion she would. "Once you meet him, you'll understand."

"I would like to," he agreed, smiling eagerly at her.

"He's here now," she offered, standing up and motioning toward the door. "He's with Sergeant Donovan examining a murder victim. Cooper is with them."

"If you don't think it will be an inconvenience," he said, pushing his chair back so he could stand up. He was a heavy set man and Molly hoped Sherlock would still be there by the time they made it to the mortuary.

"I'm sure it won't be," Molly assured him, although there was no predicting what would happen once they met. If Sherlock was going to continue working at Bart's, he needed some sort of authorization whether he liked it or not.

Molly hurried Stamford along the best she could, but they were a long way away. When they finally reached the mortuary, Sherlock and Donovan were already leaving. She rushed on ahead, reaching out to catch his arm. Donovan did not look happy at all.

"Sorry, it will just be a minute," she said to her, then gently pulled Sherlock away. By the time she did, Stamford had caught up and Molly let him go. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. Sherlock Holmes, this is Dr. Mike Stamford."

"A pleasure," Stamford said, offering him his hand. Sherlock took it in his gloved one. "Molly has told me all about you."

"Really? Molly's told me nothing about you," he said, narrowing his eyes as he quickly looked Stamford over. "You teach at Bart's, you suffer from diabetes and you've recently gotten back together with your ex-wife."

Molly held her breath as she glanced at Stamford, waiting for his reaction.

"What else?" he asked, obviously impressed.

Sherlock suddenly turned to Molly.

"You wanted me to meet him so you can finally have that authorization you're always on about," he said, sounding very disappointed. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "It was more fun the other way."

"Freak, we've got to go," Sergeant Donovan called out.

"We'll talk later, Mike," Sherlock said, then turned on his heel to join her.

"Fascinating man indeed," Stamford said as he watched him walk off.

"Yes, he is," Molly said quietly, wondering how disappointed he was.

* * *

"Oh my God. What happened to you?" Molly exclaimed as Sherlock rushed into the lab, covered in scrapes and holding a blood soaked hankerchief to the right side of his head.

"Attempted apprehension of suspect," he said, sounding very irritated as he paced about. "I need you to stitch this."

"There is an emergency ... "

"And it's full of people and I've already wasted enough time coming here," he said, cutting her off. "I'm wasting even more having to explain it."

Molly's heart tightened at what this meant. She hadn't heard from him in days and figured she wouldn't but here he was, still wanting her help.

"Take off your coat and sit down," she said, motioning to the stool. He sat and waited impatiently as she gathered up the necessary instruments and supplies.

"Please hurry. Lives depend on it."

Molly set everything down on the counter in front of him. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then reached up to his wrist. She slowly drew it down and took the hankerchief from him. For the first time since they'd met, she was in control of the situation. It made her feel confident and less of the mouse she normally was in his presence.

"You could've texted me," she said, giving him a look. Sherlock averted his gaze to across the room.

"It's more fun this way," he said, repeating his comment from the other day. His eyes flickered back to hers and Molly smiled.

She gently smoothed his hair back to reveal a gash at his hairline almost three centemeters long. It was a clean cut for the most part. There were small shards of glass on his clothes and she surmised a broken window was involved. Molly reached for the antiseptic and proceeded to clean it out. She studied the wound for a moment.

"I think I can close it with surgical adhesive. Have you have had a tetnus recently?" she asked, repositioning his head.

"Recent enough," he replied.

"You're lying," she said, opening the package of adhesive.

"And you smell like lavender," he said, inhaling deeply. "Yardley's gift box for Christmas. Probably from an aunt or distant cousin who doesn't know your preference is for vanilla."

"Quiet," Molly said, although he was right about the Yardley's. She held the edges of the wound together, squeezed the vial and gently brushed it over the seam. She waited required 30 seconds, then repeated the application.

"Is that it?" he asked, sensing she was finished. Molly inspected her work, then brushed his bangs back out of the way.

"Almost," she said, reaching for the antiseptic again. She started to clean out the other scrapes on his face.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked, not wanting to wait.

"Yes and so is a tetnus," she reminded him, dabbing at one particular nasty cut on his cheek.

"I've worked out the lab with Stamford, he said after a moment, his voice dropping to a whisper as his eyes met hers again. His hand reached up to catch her wrist and draw it away. "But I still need you for the mortuary."

"Okay," Molly agreed as he held onto her wrist. There was so much tension in the small space between them that it was hard to breathe. Had he been anyone else, she would've leaned forward and kissed him. She felt her body gravitate toward his, but then he let her go.

Without another word, he slid off the stool and gathered his things. It was only after he'd gone that Molly was finally able to move. She slipped onto the stool, her knees suddenly weak beneath her.

She took a few deep breaths, then smiled to herself.

_He needed her._


	4. Chapter 4

Molly slowly pushed the trolley through Tesco, trying to decide what she wanted for dinner. It was a challenge cooking for one. Most days, she simply ate in Bart's canteen but she was off today and there was nothing in her fridge. She surveyed the options then decided on something simple she couldn't mess up like pasta. It was in the next aisle so she absently turned about and immediately crashed into ...

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, watching Sherlock wince as he stepped back from the trolley. She's hit him somewhere on the upper thighs and feared somewhere else as well. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were ..."

"I'm fine," he snapped, his eyes darting about to the other shoppers staring at them. He grabbed the end of the trolley and pulled it and Molly into an empty aisle. "I need you for about an hour. Maybe two."

"At Bart's?"

"No, I have to look at a flat and I need a ... " Sherlock paused, his face twisting up again before continuing. "Girlfriend."

"A what?" she asked, not sure she heard him right. He gave her a strange look and Molly took the opportunity to ask something else she'd been dying to know. "I mean, surely you have one."

"No," he said firmly as if the idea was preposterous. Molly's expression fell as a sudden thought struck her. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he watched her reaction, then held up a gloved hand. "And before you ask ... no, I don't have a boyfriend either. Doesn't matter - I just need you to come with me."

"What ... now?" Molly asked, stepping around the trolley. She gazed down at her clothes and wondered if they were appropriate. Thankfully, her long coat covered everything except her jeans and trainers.

"Yes now and what you're wearing is fine," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the store quickly. He let her go long enough to wave down a taxi. "I have an appointment with the property agent in 20 minutes. I need to get something out of the floorboards in the back bedroom and someone has to distract the agent. Can you do that?"

Molly nodded just as a taxi pulled up. Sherlock held the door open and waved her in. She stood there for a moment, then eagerly climbed inside.

She was about to go undercover with Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

The property agent was waiting out front when they pulled up to the posh building. Sherlock jumped out first, then offered his hand to Molly. He pulled her out, shut the door and reached for her hand again. This time, he laced his long fingers with hers and Molly wished he didn't have gloves on.

"Sorry, we're a little late," he said to the agent, smiling cheerfully. "Darling, this is Mary Campbell. Mary, this is my fiancee, Caroline Ellis."

Molly's eyes widened slightly at the word "fiancee" but decided to play along.

"Pleased to meet you," Molly said, nodding politely at her. Mary looked up and down Molly in silent appraisal as if she was trying to figure out how they could possibly be a couple.

"Shall we see it?" Mary said, entering the pass code for the building. She held the door open and ushered them inside.

The lobby was even more posh and elaborate. Molly felt instantly out of place but Sherlock seemed to fit in perfectly. He strode confidently beside her, his head held high as they followed Mary into the lift. "I'm showing this flat again at four o'clock. If you're interested in the slightest bit, I need to know immediately."

"It's why I wanted Caroline to see it with me," Sherlock said, his hand releasing hers so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders instead. Molly reeled as he drew her against his chest and placed a kiss on the top of her head. "It's up to her, really. Anything you want, darling. Anything at all."

Mary smiled at that and at them. Molly closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms even if it was all pretend. She wound her arms around his waist, holding him closer. She tucked her nose against his coat and breathed in. He smelled of wool and men's soap and she loved the combination.

The lift stopped on the eighth floor and Sherlock loosened his grip on Molly. He let Mary walk on ahead down the hallway, making sure there was enough distance between them before leaning in.

"I need about three minutes. Chat her up in the kitchen," he whispered in her ear. "Tell her we're expecting."

"Expecting?" Molly whispered back. Before she wrap her head about that one, Mary had the door to the flat open.

"It's 1,279 square feet," she started, gesturing for them to enter. Sherlock released Molly, then breezed on ahead into the flat. Molly walked slower and gave Mary her full attention. "Two bedrooms, comfort cooling, underground parking and a 24 hour concierge."

"May I see the kitchen?" Molly asked politely.

"Certainly. It's right over here," Mary said, holding her arm out. "It's a bit small but as you can see, it's been completely refurbished. Do you like to cook, Caroline?"

"Not really," Molly answered, seeing Sherlock dart into the back bedroom. She tried to think of what to say next to keep this woman occupied. When she couldn't think of anything, she decided to just say it. "Actually, we're ... expecting."

"You are?" Mary said, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh, that's lovely! Did you just find out? You certainly aren't showing."

"Found out today, actually," Molly said, continuing the lie. She pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. "It was quite a surprise. Haven't really told anyone yet. Except you. Not sure why I told you. I guess I can't believe it myself."

"Well, it certainly changes your housing needs," she said, her eyes lowering to Molly's hand. She reached into her coat and pulled out her iPhone. "I've got some other listings you might be interested in. Somewhere with a bit of a yard, perhaps? I know of just the one."

"Yes, that might be better," Molly said, smiling nervously as she tapped and swiped at the screen. Molly took advantage of the distraction to glance over at the bedroom. No sign of Sherlock.

"Ah, here it is," Mary said, handing her the iPhone so she could look at the photos. "It's also got three bedrooms - in case you end up with twins. Do they run in your family?"

"Thankfully, no," Molly replied, swiping through them as slowly as she could. When she finally ran out of photos, she handed the phone back. "Would it be possible to see it? In person? Perhaps tomorrow?"

"See what tomorrow?"

Molly breathed a sigh of relief as Sherlock reappeared.

"Another listing," Molly said, hoping it was the right thing to say. "I'm sorry, I told her about the baby and this ..."

"This flat obviously won't do now," Sherlock finished for her, wrapping his arm around her again. "I'm very sorry, Mary but I've just received a text from the office and I must get back. You understand, don't you?"

There was a moment of awkward silence and Molly felt her face flush.

"Yes, of course," Mary finally answered, but it was obvious she was annoyed with him. She turned her attention back to Molly. "Caroline, what time are you available tomorrow?"

She felt Sherlock's fingers press into her shoulder insistently.

"I'll have to check my schedule," Molly lied, giving her an apologetic look. "Can I call you later?"

"Certainly," she answered, her gaze moving from Molly to Sherlock. "You have my number."

"Come along, Caroline," he said, nudging her impatiently. "I really must get back."

"Okay," Molly said timidly as he led her out of the flat. He kept his arm around her all the way to the lift. It wasn't until the doors shut that he let her go. Sherlock stepped to the other side, putting some space between them. "Did you get what you wanted?"

"Yes," he answered, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his mobile and began texting. For a moment, Molly thought he had forgotten all about her but then he looked up. "I must see Lestrade immediately. Can Tesco wait a bit?"

"Yes," she answered, smiling back at him. It could wait forever as far as she was concerned.

* * *

Molly was put in a waiting room while Sherlock spoke to Lestrade. Apparently, the floorboards had contained some sort of documents that would clear a suspect's name. She could see Sherlock through the glass partitions as he paced about. She was so distracted that she almost didn't see Sergeant Sally Donovan enter the room.

"I was told to bring you some coffee," she said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. Molly immediately turned her head but it was obvious what she'd been doing. "This doesn't change anything, you know."

"Change what?" Molly asked, unsure of what Donovan was getting at. Surely her feelings for Sherlock weren't that obvious, were they?

"He works alone," she said, handing Molly the coffee. "Sociopaths don't have friends or relationships of any sort for that matter. He's just using you, like he uses all of us. This case? We didn't ask for his help. He just took it upon himself because Freak was bored."

"He's not using me," Molly said, but she didn't sound convincing. She tried again. "He just needed someone to help ..."

"He needed someone to lie for him," Donovan said, giving her a harsh look. "He doesn't care what it takes to solve a case. One way or the other, he was getting into that flat today. Taking you along was just easier."

Molly opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Donovan had a way of making her feel more of a mouse than Sherlock did. She took a sip of the coffee instead and let the woman continue.

"Just stay away from him," she said, then turned to go. Her path was blocked by Sherlock, who was pushing the door open. They glared at each other in a silent standoff that ended when Donovan stepped back.

"Interesting advice coming from you," he said, then turned his attention to Molly. "I must accompany Lestrade to make the arrest but I've been told Sergeant Donovan can give you a lift back to ..."

"Thank you," Molly said, cutting him off before he could say Tesco. Donovan's eyes narrowed as she clenched her jaw in anger. "I'll see you at Bart's."

Sherlock nodded once in agreement, then left. Donovan stared at the door for a moment before turning to Molly.

"I have to make a couple calls and then we can go. Just wait here," she said, slamming the door behind her.

Molly watched her disappear into a back office. She wondered what Sherlock had done to make Donovan hate him so much but then decided it was best she didn't know.

She closed her eyes and thought instead about the feel of his arm around her, the smell of his coat and how much she enjoyed working this case with him. Obviously, he didn't work entirely alone. Even if it was just to lie for him, he still asked her to do it.

Molly opened her eyes as she realized something.

Maybe he needed a partner ... someone to work with.

Maybe she could be that someone.


	5. Chapter 5

_Do you believe in love at first sight? There's this man and I love him. At least, I think I do. I can't stop thinking about him. And he's so cool but not really. And he's fit. Oh, he is really fit. And I can't stop thinking about him._

Molly stopped typing for a moment and read her words. This was only her second entry into her blog and already she was sounding like a stupid school girl. Still, it was nice to have somewhere to share her feelings. It wasn't like he was ever going to read it. She decided to continue.

_I'm a sensible girl, I always have been. I've worked hard to get the job I have and I've got plans but he just rides all over everything. It's like I'm Molly Hooper, in control. 'Little Miss Perfect' as my mates call me. Until he walks into the room and then suddenly I'm this little mouse. He turns me into a mouse._

She reread the entire post again, especially the last bit. She thought about how she'd felt last week when she'd stitched his head. She had been in control for the most part, until the end. It was possible to stand up to Sherlock Holmes. After all, he took it upon himself to make arrangements with Stamford because she wasn't going to keep putting her job in jeopardy anymore. On some level, Molly saw it as a show of respect.

The flirting, however, was another issue.

He was too deliberate about it, each comment timed perfectly to get her to do what he wanted. Yet, there was a chemistry between them that couldn't be faked because she felt it. Pretending to be his girlfriend the other day should've been awkward but strangely it wasn't. She enjoyed working undercover with him and wanted to again.

Molly made a decision.

"Molls, why are you smiling?"

She looked up and over at Jane, who was standing in the doorway of the lab. Molly quickly saved her post, then shut off her laptop.

"I've decided to ask him out for coffee," she announced.

"Who? The detective?" Jane asked and Molly nodded. "Thank God. I was beginning to think you were going to wind up a spinster with thirty cats."

"I don't even have one cat," Molly reminded her, even though she was thinking about adopting one. She thought it best not to show Jane her blog with its cat theme.

"Well, with any luck, you'll be too busy shagging away to think about anything else," her friend said happily. Jane gestured grandly. "To celebrate, dinner is on me - the best Bart's canteen has to offer. Sky's the limit, Molls!"

"He hasn't said yes," she reminded her, not wanting to celebrate just yet. Molly wasn't sure what he would say actually. She wanted to an opportunity to talk outside of work to sort a few things out. After all, they'd known each other for a few months now. His brother had called it a "working relationship" but it was a relationship nonetheless and one worth exploring.

"Of course he'll say yes," Jane reassured her, motioning for her to get up. "Now, come on before they run out of the meatloaf."

* * *

Molly winced as she watched Sherlock violently whip the body of her former co-worker with the riding crop. He hadn't seemed particularily angry or upset about anything when he'd come in but the way he was ... well, enjoying himself made her wonder. Maybe Sergeant Donovan was right after all about him being a sociopath.

Molly dismissed the idea for the moment, not wanted to get distracted from the task at hand. She was going to ask him out for coffee. Today. No matter what.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her lipstick to reapply it. She took a deep breath, dropped it back into her pocket and headed back into the mortuary. She waited until he finished the thrashing before asking.

"So, bad day was it?" she asked with a nervous laugh.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next 20 minutes," he said, not bothering to look up he took out a small notebook. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

_Do it, Molly. Just do it_, she told herself.

"Listen, I was wondering ... maybe later when you're finished ..."

"You're wearing lipstick. You weren't wearing lipstick before," he interrupted, looking at her suspiciously. He stopped writing and just stared at her, waiting for her explanation.

"I ... uh ... I refreshed it a bit," she said, smiling widely. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, then continued writing in the notebook.

"Sorry, you were saying?" he asked. Molly was thankful his attention was focused on something else other than her. It gave her the much needed confidence to continue.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she asked, the words coming out easier than expected.

"Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs," he said quickly, snapping the notebook shut.

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Molly standing there alone.

It took her a couple seconds to realized what had just happened. He thought she wanted to get him coffee, not go out for coffee. Her heart sank as she stared at the empty space where he just was.

"Okay," she said out loud, unsure of what to do next. If it was anyone else, she wouldn't taken it as a rejection but this was Sherlock. He was obtuse about such things. It was more logical she would ask if he wanted coffee. She decided she would have to try again and be more obvious about it.

Molly took a deep breath, gathered up what was left of her pride and went to fetch the coffee. Along the way, she took out a tissue from her pocket and wiped off the lipstick. As she did, she started to second guess herself. Maybe he knew exactly what she was asking and he simply wasn't interested.

She pushed that thought away as she entered the break room.

"Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs," she mimicked softly as she prepared a cup of just that. Molly sighed heavily as she stared down at it. Maybe she should just ask again in the lab. There was absolutely nothing to lose at this point. If he wasn't interested, he would just flat out tell her. This was Sherlock, after all. He wouldn't care if he hurt her feelings. He wouldn't even understand it if he did.

Determined, Molly picked up the coffee and headed up to the lab.

* * *

Molly was surprised to find Sherlock wasn't alone.

He was with Mike Stamford ... and someone else.

"Ah Molly, coffee," he said, eagerly taking it from her. "What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly was taken aback for a second by that comment.

"It wasn't working for me," she said timidly.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement," he said, turning his back to her and walking away. "Mouth's too small now."

"Okay," Molly said, deciding it was best to leave before he said anything even more embarassing.

She decided to head back to the mortuary and check on the the bruising. It had only been about seven minutes but she needed to focus on something other than how badly she messed everything up with Sherlock. She got within two feet of the body when she noticed something on the edge of the table.

The riding crop.

Molly stared at it for a moment, surprised he'd forgotten it. She carefully picked it up, wondering if she should take it up to the lab. Before she could make a decision, the door opened behind her. Sherlock looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

"You forgot this," she said, holding it out to him.

"I know," he said, stepping toward her to retrieve it. Molly expected him to snatch it out of her hand and retreat again but he didn't. Instead, he reached for one end and slowly drew it out of her grasp. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Molly said, wondering why he was still here. He always had somewhere to go, somewhere to be. She thought of the only logical explanation there was. "Do you want to check the bruising?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Hasn't been twenty minutes."

Molly thought he was going to say something else but he didn't. Instead, he stared at her for a moment before finally turning to go.

"That man in the lab with Stamford, who was he?" she asked, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them. He immediately turned back around.

"Potential flatmate," he said, matter-of-factly. There was a long pause before he added, "I don't always get paid for my services."

Molly thought back to the things Donovan had said, the things she warned her about.

"So why do you do it then?" she asked, wanting to hear his explanation.

"I have to keep my mind occupied," he stated, his keen eyes searching hers. "But you know that already, Molly. My brother told you a couple months ago. Don't look so surprised. Mycroft can't keep himself out of my professional, or personal life."

"I'm sorry," Molly said, lowering her head and averting her eyes from his. "I should've told you. I just didn't want you to stop ..."

She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, as if it was a ridiculous assumption. Molly looked up and over at him again. "You're very useful to me."

At first, Molly thought he was just flirting with her again but he wasn't. He was being serious and it gave her hope maybe she meant something to him after all. She smiled at that thought and at him, which only made everything awkward again.

"I'd better get back to work," she said, gesturing to the body. "I'll text you about the bruises."

"Good," he said, taking a couple steps back. "And Molly?"

"Yes?"

"Were you asking me _out_ for coffee?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. Molly was so taken aback, all she could do was nod. Sherlock gave her a curious look as if it were a foreign concept to him. "Ah. Perhaps tomorrow then."

"Okay," she said as calmly as she could. Molly waited until he was well out the door before letting out a happy shriek.


End file.
